


Briny Depths

by curiumKingyo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Human!Connor, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, based on art, merman au, merman!Hank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: There is something just below the surface of the water, Connor is sure of it.The only way to figure out this mysterious shadowy figure is to take a literal plunge into unknown waters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was directly inspired by [this mysterious and enticing art](https://twitter.com/tastyturquoise/status/1023926567083208705) by the super talented [Teal](https://twitter.com/tastyturquoise).

Connor has never liked the beach. As a child, his parents insisted on bringing him and his brother to the beach every single Summer. Niles didn't particularly like it either but he’d never had strong emotions to begin with so he went along easily. For many years, when they were very young, they would keep each other company, playing on the rented house’s garden or going to the beach and collecting shells and sand dollars. However, a little after they turned 13 their interests drifted too far apart and even the bittersweet consolation of his brother’s company was taken away from Connor.

It doesn’t matter how much he dislikes the beach, though. Connor is, above all, a man of habits and routines, so he continues going to the beach every year. Not for too long, just a couple of days, in opposition to the countless weeks of vacations from his childhood. He loves his job and knows that he tends to overwork himself so he doesn't feel too bad asking for some paid holidays for a few days every Summer.

He always invites Niles to join him. It is a mere formality, though, because he knows his brother never accepts these invitations. They both are deeply attached to their routines, goals and daily tasks and chores, Niles even more than Connor himself. The few friends they have in common mockingly call them bot-bros or Androids, due to their overly regular nature. Therefore it never surprises the older twin when his brother politely declines his offers.

In a way, it is actually good that Niles doesn't come with Connor. It pains the older to see the distance between them but he also craves the isolation. At work Connor is famous for his curiosity and helpfulness, he is always willing to assist which makes him a valued co-worker. The price of this willingness is overworking, and stressing over cases he hasn’t actually been designated for. The price is splitting headaches at his right temple, little to no sleep and what is probably the worst diet a human being has ever sustained without being forced to.

Some peace, calm and solitude would do him good. He has books to read, sleep to compensate, and his ingrained need to see the ocean to sate. He has everything he needs to spend a few good days all by himself.

When he asks for his usual holiday Fowler forces him to take two full weeks. At first he resists, it is too long to be alone, but Fowler is resolute. Connor invites Niles again, maybe the extended period would allow his brother to fit the travel into his schedule but the reply doesn’t change. So, Connor packs some more books, the biggest puzzle he owns, and takes the bus to the coast.

He arrives at the little rented house in the middle of the afternoon. Despite the noise of traffic and people on the street he can hear the sea, rushing and hitting the rocks just a few meters away on the other side of the fence. The house needs some cleaning, it is just the first month of Summer and he is probably the first one here this year. He doesn’t mind, though, one more distraction to fill his time.

He opens all the windows and take deep breaths of sea salt air, he sweeps and dusts and pours some chlorine on the toilet for good measure.

It is late when he finally finishes and, suddenly, he finds himself starving. There is nothing on the fridge or cabinets and he curses his lack of foresight. He should have gone to the supermarket instead of wasting his time cleaning. The shops close early on the small coastal town, he knows he doesn’t have many options. He has brought some food, mostly crackers and cookies for the travel and while he could just eat them and go to bed he feels like eating something more substantial for once.

He grabs his phone and wallet and leaves the house. After so many years he knows the town pretty well, so he goes directly to the main square, where the chances of finding an open restaurant or shop are bigger. Luckily some places are still open and he quickly enters a small pizza place.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re not taking any more customers tonight, darling,” an old lady tells him as he approaches the counter.

“I don’t mind getting a take out,” he says. “I won’t occupy a table or stay here late.”

Her face pinches in annoyance, but before Connor can say anything else his stomach growls loudly and eloquently. The old lady looks at him with a touch of pity on her face.

“Well, I think the oven is still on,” she says, back to her original sweet demeanor. “What would you like, dear?”

Connor orders a medium pizza and pays immediately, trying to keep the old lady from changing her mind. She takes his order to the kitchen and goes around the restaurant, checking on the last few clients on their tables. The smell of food makes Connor all the hungrier and he idly plays a little game on his phone in an attempt to distract himself. When the pizza finally arrives he thanks the woman and sprints out of the restaurant, long legs efficiently carrying him back home.

When he arrives, instead of going in he walks by the house and crosses the small backyard following the sound of the sea. Jumping over the fence while balancing the pizza box is tricky but he manages just fine - a little cheese on the lid will not kill anyone. He toes his shoes off and leaves them by the fence before strutting down the short path of sand and broken shells until he reaches the rocks by the sea.

The night is pleasantly warm, the faintest orange still paints the horizon of an otherwise dark sky. There are many, so many stars above Connor is in awe. The moon is not quite full yet but it is bright and looks so very big, its light more than enough to guide Connor’s steps down the familiar path. Once he reaches his destination Connor sits down on the edge of the rocks, pizza box balanced on his knees and feet dangling over the water.

The pizza has gone a little cold when he finally eats the first slice. The cheese is just a little too chewy but it is still very good, specially for someone as hungry as him. He continues eating, slowly, savoring his meal. It is rare for him to have time to eat in peace. It’s so common for him to skip meals, he really appreciates the opportunity to enjoy his food for once.

As he eats he idly stares at the sea. The lazy waves, the moonlight glittering over the water, the sound and smell and taste of the briny. It is odd to feel so relaxed in a place he doesn’t actually like but he can’t deny the calming effect of the beach on his system.

He eats half of the pizza and feels his stomach bloated and uncomfortable, so he closes the box and puts it aside. It is not late, not for his standards anyway.

Back at home he is used to going to bed when the sun is about to rise, or napping for short periods of time whenever he can. _Going to bed early for once would be a positive change_ , he thinks. He has traveled for many hours that day, and cleaning the house was not an easy task. Despite the early hour he feels exhausted.

He goes back into the house with the half empty pizza box under his arm. The cheese is so cold it won’t stick to the lid even if he carries it a little crookedly. He picks his shoes up before jumping back over the fence and entering the house.

After a quick shower he sends Niles a message and goes straight to bed. His dreams, for once, are peaceful and he doesn’t wake up once at night.

 

**

Connor finishes the first book in two days. The second in only one. He buys newspapers just to complete the crosswords and he is slowly regretting his choices in the entertainment area. Maybe bringing the puzzle Niles had given him as a joke, a beautiful , intricate, and basically impossible to put together image of outer space, was not his brightest idea. The thing had been sitting under his bed for forever for a reason.

Walking on the beach is pleasant enough but Connor doesn’t do well under the bright and hot sun, so he saves this one activity for his late evenings when he can appreciate the watercolor effect of the sunset without suffering with the heat. The rest of his time he spends trying his best not to die of boredom.

After the pizza situation of the first day he fills the pantry and fridge with food. He is not a particularly good cook but he enjoys making simple meals and is more than happy to prepare fish, rice, pasta and other simple meals everyday. He has lunch in the kitchen, cell phone propped against the wall as he watches something on Youtube.

Dinner, however, he eats on the rocks by the shore.

It is not the most practical place, but there is an odd sense of peace in that place that Connor simply can’t get enough of. The food even tastes better with the added spice of the sea in the air, he thinks. He grows to enjoy the ritual of cooking and eating. Since time is his most abundant resource he uses it to his heart’s desires, eating slowly, savoring every bite, spending long minutes just staring at the sea while his plate is still full. It is such a simple routine, he can appreciate it.

At night on day five he has a platter of fried fish on his lap and a distant look on his face. Niles hasn’t texted him once since the day he’s arrived. His brother is not one to maintain constant contact but five days of silence is not exactly normal either. He considers calling him, but when he pats his pocket he realizes he’s left the phone in the house.

A piece of fried fish falls from his platter when he moves around to find the phone, but Connor pays it no mind. He still has plenty, anyway.

Once he is satisfied he puts the platter away and licks the salt and oil from his fingers and palms. He is becoming quite a messy eater in his little self-imposed exile. He chuckles at the thought and rubs the last remains of oil on his shorts - he was already planning on washing his clothes the next day, a little bit of fat won’t make any difference.

His phone is not in his pocket, but it isn’t empty either. He finds a coin there, sparkling new and shiny. A small smile spreads on his lips as he nimbly rolls the coin over his knuckles and between his fingers. A nervous gesture turned fun party trick. It’s been a while since he last played with a coin but he has never really forgotten how to. The silver dollar is cold at first but it slowly grows warm as he rolls and flicks the coin from one hand to the other.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of blue eyes follow his every move from down below.

Connor slips the coin back into his pocket and yaws, stretching his back and squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them again he catches the barest glint of something gliding down the surface of the water with minimal splash. He tilts an eyebrow, curious, but after a few moments of perfect stillness he convinces himself it was just a trick of the light.

 

***

 

He meets all sorts of different people on the town. There is a short haired woman who always takes her daughter to the bakery to have breakfast at the same time Connor buys his morning coffee, there is a soft spoken teacher who likes to discuss the news with him on the newspaper stand, there is even a homeless man who seems to have been chosen to be the king of pigeons. It is quite a lively town, Connor can’t help being impressed.

Niles finally sends him a text on day six. It is a very straightforward message asking when he would return and wishing him a good stay. Connor feels oddly happy to read it. He really should make an effort to keep in touch with Niles. Maybe next year he should really insist on bringing him to the beach. Connor replies the message and continues the difficult task of finding the correct shade of blue to fit on a specific corner of his puzzle.

The moon is now completely full and Connor goes to the rocky shore with his food as usual. There is so much light it is almost as if it isn’t night at all. Connor isn’t really hungry that night, he had eaten lunch fairly late in the afternoon, but he likes to follow these small daily rituals when he can afford. He sits on his usual spot and pensively eats the sandwich he has made. It doesn’t last long and before he realizes it the food is gone.

He lays down on the rock, feet dangling over the rippling surface of the sea. The rocks create a pool below, an area almost completely isolated from the open sea. It is deep but the waves are very mild and sparse and more than once he has considered swimming on it but getting off the pool would be difficult so he just sits there and watches it instead.

The sound of the water gently hitting the rocks lulls Connor into a light sleep. When he wakes up his feet are wet despite of not touching the water. He wonders if it was a particularly strong wave that had hit him, or if maybe the droplets from the rippling sea were responsible for this. It is odd, but he pays it no mind. He is tired that night, the girl who eats breakfast at the bakery every morning had invited him to play earlier that day and he’d said yes.

He stands up and groans, his back aches from the position he had been sleeping in. He heads back home and falls directly onto the bed. He dreams of the color blue laced with grey and silver.

***

At the end of the first week Connor is so relaxed he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to return to his usual routine. Even being bored is kinda interesting now. When he has absolutely nothing to do he has time to make plans for the future, to analyze memories from the past, to wonder about the present. He doesn’t have the time for all this idle thinking back at home and he isn’t any type of philosopher but he’s come to enjoy these ruminations.

Everyday when the sun starts to set he goes for a walk on the beach, bare toes digging into the wet sand and the last rays of sun hitting his freckled shoulders. Sometimes he feels like there is something just on the edge of hs vision, a wave out of sync with the rest or an odd refraction of light, he can’t tell. It follows him as he walks aimlessly along the shore.

He goes back home when he gets hungry. On the last few days he has learned a lot of new recipes and he has grown to enjoy cooking even more. When he returns home he should cook Niles something nice too.

That night, after finishing his food, he picks the coin and lazily starts to play with it. He’s been practicing some new tricks with the help of online tutorials. His goal is to flick it sideways and catch it between his fingers instead of in his palm. It is not difficult per se, but requires a lot of attention and precision. He tosses it up and down for a while, getting his fingers and wrists warmed up, before he starts to practice his new trick.

The moonlight catches on the metal transforming the coin into a silver flash flickering back and forth between Connor’s hands. He follows it attentively with his eyes, trying to calculate the right point to pick it on the air. It is not an easy task. The coin escapes his fingers more often than not, but he persists - if the guy on Youtube did it he can do it too.

Unless that video is edited, he thinks. The momentary distraction is more than enough to make him hesitate on his next toss. The coin flies by, passes through his slack fingers and glitter in the moonlight as it falls into the water.

Connor quickly leans over the edge of the rock but he knows the coin is gone for good. The pool below is calm but it is big and deep and Connor hadn’t even seen where the coin had fallen. Well, it was a shiny and new coin, but nothing special. He frowns, slightly upset, and decides to call it a night.

He throws a last glance at the sea over his shoulder. A glittering figure seems to pass just out of his field of vision. He turns, squints, runs his gaze across the pool but finds nothing but the soft foam beating gently against the rocks.

On the next night he arrives at the rock barehanded - the lady from the pizza restaurant had crossed paths with him in the afternoon and invited him back to the restaurant to be properly served. He told her that he didn’t have any ill feelings towards her or the restaurant but she insisted and he accepted easily.

A glittering flash catches his attention when he arrives at his usual spot. He leans down, curious, and is utterly surprised by what he finds.

The coin.

It is resting on a little raised natural platform, completely dry and shiny as ever. He reaches down carefully and touches it with his fingertip before actually picking it up. He rolls it on his fingers, thoughtful.

He looks around. The place is not exactly isolated, it is possible to reach this peak coming from the beach or from the other houses on the block. However, it is not a very popular spot and Connor doesn’t remember seeing anyone there during the day. The coin might have belonged to someone else but, as Connor flicks it over and rolls it on his fingers, he has a completely absolute notion that it is the same coin he had accidentally tossed into the ocean the night before.

The coin was waiting for him a few feet into the rock plateau, it is impossible to believe it had been brought back by coincidence. Even when the tides are at the fullest the water never reaches this place. Connor bites his lips, curious but also concerned. Quick memories of a silver flash just below the surface of the water come to him.

He wants to know what has happened. The coin slides back into his pocket and he goes back home, plans and strategies on his mind.

***

The next day Connor goes on about his business as usual. Breakfast at the bakery, lunch at home, afternoon trying not to set the puzzle on fire. When the sun starts to sink down the horizon he quickly sets the puzzle aside and rubs some sunscreen over his nose before leaving the house. Being as pale and full of freckles as he is, protection against the sun is never enough.

This time he also brings his coin with him. He has made a small dent on it, subtle enough to pass by unnoticeable but easy for him to recognize. His heart is beating oddly fast as he takes his usual stroll on the beach. The coin flies up and lands gently on his folded thumb. He flicks it up again, watches as it spins in the air and then catches it again.

He wanders for some time, that unseen presence always just a little too distant to be properly noticed. Once he is almost back to the place he’s started his walk, close enough to the rocky shore that the fence of the house is actually visible, Connor flips the coin hard enough to make it fall on the sea. He tsks and frowns, steps into the cold water trying to locate his coin to no avail.

With a little sigh he turns around and takes the path back home, eyes fixed on the sea over his shoulder.

He goes home, takes a shower, prepares some food, text Niles and waits with his heart leaping on his throat. The moon rises, the sun finally disappears completely, the sea gently hits the rocks behind the house. Taking a deep breath, Connor leaves the house.

It is difficult to control himself as he walks down the path. He wants to run. To leap and bound and just get there already. But he presses his lips together into a tight line and continues at his regular pace. His feet finally leave the soft sand behind and climb over the sharp rocks.

His breath leaves him in a rush when he sees the glittering spot on the ground. He almost trips on his haste to get to the coin. His eyes go directly to the head figure where a familiar dent can be seen. Connor’s throat dries, his eyes bug out.

There is absolutely no mistake.

He stands there at a loss. What does it mean? Is it in any way related to that glittering shadow? Has he finally succumbed to boredom and is creating ridiculous and elaborate fantasies in his mind? He tightens his fist around the coin. It is real, as real as the rock under his bare feet.

With his heart thundering he touches the very tip of his tongue on the coin. It is salty and cold. He shivers and nervously rolls the silver dollar over his knuckles. It is an easy trick, the first one he learned and one that always helps him calm down in moments of tension.

This is a moment of tension.

A cool breeze blows across the rocky shore. Connor’s exposed arms and chest get goosebumps, his hair whips softly against his forehead. He tucks a stray curl away behind his ear.

There, as he is thoughtfully brushing his hair aside, he sees it. The glittering shadow just at the corner of his eyes. As subtle as possible he turns his gaze in that direction, the hand on his hair disguising the direction of his eyes.

At first it isn’t more than the vague shape of something, but slowly it becomes more defined. The surface of the water breaks, a grey mess emerges, silver glistening in the middle of it. Connor holds his breath. The shape grows bigger and the young man realizes it is a mane of wavy, longish, soaked hair that is slowly emerging.

After what feels like an eternity, a pair of eyes finally break the surface of the water. Connor can’t see the color, can barely see the person there but now it is impossible to deny its existence. The coin digs painfully into Connor’s palm as he stands there perfectly unmovable. He is waiting for… something.

The man below stops moving as well. They seem to engage in a tug of war, neither moving nor directly looking at the other. Connor’s heart is beating so hard he is feeling dizzy. He is a trained police officer, holding well under pressure is part of his job but suddenly he feels jittery as if his last ten years working at the DPD had never existed.

It is Connor who makes the first move. He turns his head sharply, trying to finally get a direct look at the man. The other is fast, though, and as soon as Connor moves he disappears under the water without even taking a breath.

Connor’s instincts finally kick in and without a second thought he jumps into the water after him.

The cold is the first thing that Connor notices. The second, when he opens his eyes, is how clear the water is. Moonlight streams into the water, everything looks soft and teal colored but his eyes are as useful here as they normally are.

The last, but most important, thing he notices is the man in front of him. If he could say it is a man, that is.

Bubbles escape his mouth as he gasps in surprise. The grey hair he had seen is floating like silver seaweed around a perfect human head. Officer training feeding Connor info: male, around fifty year old, grey hair and beard, white skin, scars on his chest and arms, blue eyes. Shark tail. Open gills on his neck.

Mermaid is the only word that comes to Connor’s mind as he looks up and down the creature in front of him. The upper body is that of a large, well muscled human male, but somewhere around the hips the skin turns from pale to light gray and the legs are completely replaced by a powerful looking tail. Dark grey, big side fins, pink scars all over.

“You can’t stay here forever, kid,” no bubbles leave the merman’s mouth as he speaks, neck gills flaring a little.

Connor’s eyes go wide, the salt stinging them but he could care less about it. He might as well go blind now because he has officially seen it all. The merman is right, though. There isn’t much oxygen left in Connor’s lungs and if he intends to remain conscious he should go up soon.

He is not very graceful when he swims the short distance between them, and the merman fixes him with a confused stare as Connor approaches. The human extends his hand, slowly. He really needs to go up for air but he want to touch, he wants to bring the merman with his to the surface, he wants to talk and understand and…

He gasps, the last of the oxygen finally burning on his lungs. He kicks his legs a little more, his fingertips brush against thick skin and he feels like he is about to pass out. A strong hand wraps around his wrist.

“I can’t believe it,” the merman murmurs, mostly to himself.

Connor is suddenly tugged forward and he collides with the very solid chest of the merman. Whatever air was left in his is expelled in burst of tiny bubbles when strong arms hold him tight and the powerful shark tail kicks below him. He feels the water rushing by much faster than he has ever felt before, the merman’s entire body undulates and flexes creating a strong push that pushes them upwards.

They break the surface of the water and Connor gasps loudly, wet hair invading his mouth as he desperately tries to breath. It goes on for a while, the arms never letting go of him. Tears stream down his face but it is impossible to tell them apart from the sea water dripping from his hair.

When his desperate gasping finally subsides into a more controlled breathing he feels one of the arms releasing him and curious fingers pushing his hair aside. He blinks forcefully a few times before opening his eyes. He is very close to the merman. In fact, he is still in his arms, Connor’s own hands resting on his shoulders as if they were dancing. A bright blush colors Connor’s cheeks.

The merman spits  mouthful of water to the side before speaking.

“May I let you go now?”

It is hard for Connor to place his tone. It is not hostile, but it isn’t friendly either. There is some curiosity but also something else. Something bittersweet.

“Yes, sure.”

The merman carefully lets go of Connor and the human starts to gently kick his legs to keep on the surface. They stare each other for a long time. The silence grows and grows, heavy, dense. Connor’s brain is working at its maximum capacity trying to figure out what to say.

The merman’s brain seems faster than his.

“If you drop this coin here again I swear to God I’ll shove it down you throat.”

Connor blinks slowly, surprised. Surely he has misheard, water in his ear or something. He politely shakes his head and stutters a little before finally replying.

“You’ll shove the coin where?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's training dictates: clues, evidence, hypothesis. Fuck this, nothing makes sense anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, in my fic?  
> More likely than you think.

There is a moment of silence broken only by the hush of the waves against the shore. Connor's fingers are slipping on the wet surface of the rocks but he can keep afloat without kicking his feet so he tightens the grip there and blinks the water off his face.

“You do speak English, right?” The merman asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Connor replies quickly. “Yes, I do,” he adds for good measure. “I was just… surprised.”

The merman snorts a laugh, the sound much more pleasant than Connor would have assumed. Connor finds himself smiling in return.

“My name’s Connor,” he says, almost instinctively. That gives the merman pause. After what feels like a long time he replies.

“Hank.”

“Hank?” Connor echoes, a surprised smile on his lips.

“Problems with my name?”

“No. I guess I was... expecting something else? I had a teacher in middle school named Hank.”

Hank snorts and shakes his head, his hair oddly flowy and soft looking despite being wet. He fixes Connor with a curious stare for a second, then his eyes rise up to the top of the rocky shore.

“Say, Connor, can you climb back up from here?”

Connor looks up, a little frown forming between his eyebrows. The rock wall is about eight feet tall, not impossible to climb but certainly not easy either. Not to mention it is incredibly steep and Connor can’t even run a little to get some impulse. He chews his lips.

“I think I can,” he says, unsure. “It won’t be easy, though.”

Hank doesn’t look impressed by his answer and Connor almost pouts. Almost.

“Can  _ you  _ climb it?” Connor asks, ego slightly bruised. Hank grumbles a laughter.

“Of course I can, kid,” he says, dismissively. At this moment Connor is suddenly aware of just how big Hank’s arms are. The merman has some fat around his gut but his shoulders and arms are built like a wardrobe. It is not hard to imagine Hank climbing that rock wall with his bare hands and the scene makes Connor somewhat weak on his knees.

“How else do you think I returned that fucking coin of yours?”

That is a welcome distraction to the arm ogling situation Connor unwittingly put himself in.

“The coin,” he says, catching Hank’s attention. “Why did you return it, anyway?”

Hank frowns, considering whether or not to reply. At last, he huffs and says:

“I just don’t want Sumo choking on it.”

“Sumo?” Connor’s attention is immediately picked.

Hank rolls his eyes and, much to Connor’s surprise, he opens the gills around his neck and submerges under the gentle waves. Under the moonlight he sees Hank’s hair flowing around his head, glinting silver, and grey. Bubbles escape his mouth and Connor feels, rather than hears, as he calls someone underwater.

After a few seconds, the merman comes back up, gills flaring open for a moment before closing up and melding perfectly with the skin on Hank’s neck. Hank spits some water.

“He’s coming,” he says, cryptically.

Connor waits, breath suspended. Hank is acting very nonchalantly about it so Connor believes whatever is about to come is not dangerous. However, a part of his mind supplies him with old folk tales and mythology pieces about mermaids dragging people to their death. He doesn’t feel comforted by those thoughts.

“Who… who is coming?” Connor’s voice breaks a little, his fingers gripping the rock wall forcefully.

Then, he sees it. A shape under the water, moving swiftly and creating waves on its wake. It is dark and approaching fast and Connor can barely brace himself before impact.

Hank’s boisterous laughter breaks the still night air when Connor shrieks as a big, overexcited seal all but collides with him. The air is knocked off his lungs when his back painfully hits the wall, he lets go of the rocks in order to try and keep Sumo away but all he manages to do is sink under the added weight of the seal.

Connor gulps a mouthful of water and despair starts to set in when he feels hands gripping his waist and pulling him up. He gasps as his head breaks the surface of the water, spitting and trying to get his bearings back.

“Sumo, bad!” Hank’s voice comes from behind him. The merman might be scolding the seal but he sounds more amused than upset.

Finally, Connor manages to catch his breath and open his eyes, Sumo’s big black eyes stare back at him. The seal bumps his nose against Connor’s face and the only thing the human can think of is a dog licking someone they like.

“You have a dog!” He says, smiling and bumping his face against Sumo’s in reply. The seal makes a happy noise and splashes some water with his back tail. “I like dogs.”

“He is not a dog,” Hank says, one arm leaving Connor’s waist to pet Sumo’s neck. “He is a seal.”

“Well, but it is like he is your dog,” Connor argues, scratching Sumo’s bristly chin. Hank grunts a little.

“Guess you’re right,” he agrees at last and Connor smiles.

“So, your name is Sumo,” Connor continues petting the seal. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“No, he is awful,” Hank says and Connor feels a shiver running down his neck when he realizes that he is still being held by the merman, one arm around his waist and the other under his arm as Hank playfully boops Sumo’s little black nose. “He is a nuisance and will eat anything if I don’t keep an eye on him.”

Connor swallows the lump on his throat.

“That’s why you don’t want to have the coin around,” Connor says, trying hard to keep his voice level.

“Yes, he usually has a good grasp on what is food and what isn’t but after you dropped that piece of fish a few nights ago he thinks you’re here to feed him or something. I had to wrestle the coin off his mouth.”

Hank laughs and gently pushes Sumo away. This time the seal obeys but he continues lazily swimming around, bumping against Connor’s legs and trying to pass between them.

“I’m sorry I caused a problem for you,” Connor says, following Sumo with his eyes. “But, you could’ve just tossed it somewhere. It isn’t an important coin or anything.”

Hank studies him for a split second and it could be a trick of the light but Connor thinks he sees the other man blushing.

“I thought it was special,” he says, carefully avoiding Connor’s eyes. “You seemed happy playing with it, I thought it could be a gift or memory.”

Sumo stops circling them and chooses to just float by Connor’s side. The human gently rubs the seal’s belly, marveling at the texture of the skin. Hank is still decidedly looking away and Connor can’t help a little smirk.

“You were watching me?”

This time it is no trick of the light. Hank blushes and it makes Connor’s smirk grow.

“Isn’t it time for you to go back?” Hank points at Connor’s hand, where it is rubbing Sumo. “You’re pruning!”

Connor looks at his fingertips. It is true, the skin there is all wrinkled and overly pale but it isn’t actually a problem. He knows it and suspects the merman does too, but he doesn’t want to make a bad impression so soon. He is known for coming on too strong sometimes and he would really like to meet Hank, and Sumo, again.

“You’re right,” Connor says, at last, giving his fingers a pensive look. Hank looks surprised that he had taken the bait so easily. “But, as I said before, it won’t be easy for me to climb back up.”

Hank shakes his head.

“Should’ve thought about it before plunging into the damn sea,” he doesn’t sound too mad, though. “Let me take you to the beach, you can walk up the hill from there.”

The rocks close a part of the sea, creating a peaceful pool isolated from the open sea. Connor follows Hank as he guides him around the rocks and pools until they arrive at an opening that leads to the beach. Sumo swims happily by their side, making little barking-like sounds.

“You can see the shore from here,” Hank says, pointing in the direction of the sand. “Can you swim this distance?”

“Yes, sure,” Connor is a little tired after staying on the water for so long but he can still manage the thirty feet or so to the beach. Connor squeezes Sumo’s soft face as he contemplates what to say. After a long pause, he speaks again.

“I used to come here every year when I was a child, but I never liked it very much. I am glad I kept coming, now,” he doesn’t know where this is coming from, he isn’t used to sharing personal information or thoughts but admitting those things to Hank come naturally to him. “I’m going back home next week, can I meet you again before that?”

Hank’s eyes finally meet his again. They are very blue and Connor can’t read them but he somehow feels a connection there.

“I understand it if you can’t, or,” he swallows, hard “don’t want to. But, I’d like it.”

They remain quiet for a long time, even Sumo stops playing around and looks from Hank to Connor with apprehension. Hank’s hand twitches under the water and hidden from Connor’s eyes. His gills flare a little, the red interior shining under the moonlight. Does it mean he is breathless? Connor wishes he could understand him better.

“Yeah, kid,” Hank eventually says. “Come back here after the sun sets. God knows I could use some company other than Sumo and Reed.”

A shy smile tilts Connor’s lips up.

“Thanks, Hank,” he says and turns around. “See you tomorrow. Bye, Sumo.”

Sumo makes a whining little noise as Connor starts swimming away from them, but doesn’t follow him. It takes little time to reach the shore and when Connor finally steps out of the sea he turns around just in time to catch a glimpse of a grey tail disappearing under the waves. From the distance, he can’t tell if it was Hank or just Sumo, though.

Connor is exhausted when he finally makes it back home. The water has dripped and evaporated from his clothes and hair, leaving a thin layer of salt crusting his skin. He hates this feeling. As soon as he locks the door he peels off his shorts and underwear, the fabric sticking unpleasantly to his skin. He runs upstairs and turns on the shower as hot as he can stand it. He is freezing cold now that the wind had dried his body.

He stays under the hot spray, mind swirling with the recent events. As a police officer, he is trained to find clues and organize evidence, to understand situations and create a hypothesis. And that’s what he does as he thoughtfully washes and conditions his hair.

Fact: there is a merman living in the ocean by his little rented house.

Fact: said merman has a seal as a dog, his name is Sumo and he seems to like Connor a lot.

Fact: Connor likes Sumo a lot too.

Hypothesis: Hank likes Connor, at least enough to care about his coin and to help him go back home.

Connor shivers at the thought of Hank watching him night after night as he sat on the rocks to eat and practice his coin tricks. He knows this kind of behavior is normally frowned upon but, honestly, what is normal about all of this? Hank probably has few chances to interact with humans.

He remembers Hank’s face less than an hour ago when Connor asked to meet him again. He looked so… lost? Connor is not very good at reading people outside the interrogation room, but he thinks there is an underlying sadness on Hank that strangely matches his own. What was it that Hank said when he agreed to meet Connor again?

_ God knows I could use some company other than Sumo and Reed. _

Reed. This name rings a bell but Connor can’t place it. It isn’t that uncommon of a name, he could’ve heard it anywhere. Hank said it in such a calculated phrase, though. It is like he wants Connor to follow that line.

Reed. Reed. Reed.

Connor finishes showering and, with a towel around his hips and other on his hair, he does what he usually does when stuck with a problem. He texts Niles.

Niles, for all his aloof personality and social awkwardness, is surprisingly good at helping Connor figure things out. Such things are usually work-related but Niles helping him in personal matters is not unheard of. Connor stares at the empty screen of his phone for a few minutes before typing out the text.

To: Niles  
How are you, brother? I’m doing fine myself but there is something in my mind.   


To: Niles   
Does the name Reed ring a bell for you?

Surprisingly, Niles replies in less than an hour.

From: Niles   
Reed is the landlord of the house you’re currently renting, Connor.   
I believe his first name is Gavin, it was in the email and in the agreement you signed.

Connor makes a little triumphant noise as he types his thanks to Niles. Bless Niles and his uncanny ability to remember basically everything. Connor sifts through his inbox and finds the email from one Gavin Reed, who is indeed the responsible for the house Connor is currently in. It is way too late to call and messaging him doesn’t seem like a good option, though. So, Connor writes the number down on a piece of paper and promptly goes to bed.

Sleep is not something that comes easily to him but he is so tired that he goes off like a light the moment his head hits the pillow. On his dream Connor is swimming but instead of legs, he has a long, snake-like tail, spinning endlessly across the sea. There are a seal and a shark with him.

It is a little past eight in the morning when Connor calls Gavin Reed. The phone rings several times and Connor is about to hang up when the call is picked up.

“Reed here, what do you want?”

The only moment Connor had seen Reed in person was in the two minutes it took the man to give him the keys of the house and the code of the alarm. All their contact had been made by email, so Connor is a little shocked by the other man’s less than cordial behavior.

“Good morning, Mr. Reed,” he says, politely. “My name’s Connor, I’m currently renting your house on Hill Street,” Reed grumbles in response but says nothing otherwise. “I would like to meet you in person to discuss something.”

“Call the estate agency,” Reed interrupts Connor.

“What?”

“The agency,” he repeats, clearly in a bad mood. “If you have problems with this shitty house you can call the agency.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Connor speaks fast, he doesn’t want to give Reed a chance to dismiss him and turn off the phone. “The house is perfect, I have a personal question to discuss.”

“Personal?” Reed snorts. “What the fuck? Is this a prank?”

“I assure you it is not,” Connor says, firmly. “I would like to ask you about Hank.”

Silence meets his statement. Heavy, loaded silence.

“I’ve met him,” Connor continues, heart leaping on his throat.

“This is new,” Reed finally speaks again, this time with measured words. “What do you want to know?”

Isn’t it the million dollar question? Connor sighs.

“Anything?”

Reed makes a deep, rumbling sound that barely sounds human. Connor listens attentively, breath suspended as little muffled noises echo through the line.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” Reed says at last. “But, all his shit that wasn’t donated is in a box in the pantry.”

“His things are here?”

“Yeah, this is his house,” Reed says as if it is old news, which probably is. Connor’s chest tightens.

“Ah, yes, sure,” he says, dumbly. “Thanks for your time. Mr. Reed.”

“Whatever…” Reed hangs up on him and Connor remains there, unmovable, listening to the dead line.

Eventually, he turns off his phone and places it back on the nightstand. He moves through the house as if on a trance, legs carrying him downstairs and into the kitchen without his input. He stops in front of the pantry and stares at the closed door for a long while.

The pantry is still full of Connor’s groceries but now he sees a file box neatly hidden under the lowest shelf. It is a standard box, made out of brown cardboard with a label printed on the side and a matching lid. There is an identification in what he believes to be Gavin Reed’s handwriting on the side of the box: Hank’s shit.

Connor pulls the box away from its hiding spot. It is not nearly as heavy as the size suggested. Connor picks it up, the grain of the cardboard feels rough under his fingertips, and he carries it to the living room where the space puzzle is still waiting to be finished.

Carefully Connor sets the box on the coffee table and, taking a deep breath, he opens it.

The smell of dust hits Connor in the face as he leans in to see the interior of the box. There isn’t much inside the box. A framed photo lying face down on a pile of papers and a little toy car. It is everything left of Hank in the house that is his.

Connor’s hand shakes as he picks the photo as turns it around. A little boy with light eyes and a sweet smile looks back at him from the frame. His hair is a wild mess, a cowlick over his forehead. The boy is no older than six or seven, the date on the bottom of the picture reveals it to be three years old. Connor carefully places the picture on the table before picking the papers.

The first one is a birth certificate on the name of Cole Anderson, son of one Hank Anderson. Connor’s heart squeezes painfully on his chest. He steals a glance at the picture and then back at the document in his hand. That is unquestionably Hank’s son, Cole. Where is he? Is he a merman too?

Connor returns the document to the bottom of the box and moves on to the next paper. It is a newspaper page. Car crash makes a fatal victim on Hill Street. Connor’s eyes go wide. There is a picture of a car rolled over, windows shattered, blood, black in the grayscale image, seeping on the snowy street. His throat suddenly feels sandpaper dry.

“A tragic accident involving a truck and a family car happened yesterday on Hill Street, near the corner with Main Street. Due to the ice sheet over the street, the truck lost control and hit the sedan, causing the car to roll over and injuring the passengers. Hank Anderson, 42, suffered severe contusions, as well as cuts and bruises over all his body. His son, Cole Anderson, 6, was hit directly by the truck and when the medical crew arrived he had already died…”

The article goes on with more details but Connor finds himself unable to continue reading. He leans against the couch, head spinning. Clues, evidence, hypothesis. He can’t make heads or tails of this situation but it hurts. It hurts so much he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to put the article down and pick the next one.

It is a short note, ripped from a newspaper rather than carefully cut like the previous one had been.

“City mourns the loss of beloved police officer Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

There is a small portrait on the corner of the page. It is Hank, no questions. Young, clad in a formal police uniform, but impossible not to recognize. Connor gasps, eyes suddenly full of tears.

“Two months ago the city suffered the loss of Cole Anderson, victim of a traffic accident, and now we join in mourn once more to honor Cole’s father, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Anderson was very loved by our community but the shock of losing his son at such a young age was too much for the police officer. Anderson’s body was found by his colleague Detective Gavin Reed last morning. The pockets of Anderson’s jacket were full of rocks, and he was found on the small bay behind his house on Hill Street. The casket will be at the police station where friends and colleagues may pay their respects until 2 pm when the body will be moved to the local cemetery.”

Connor can barely read the last lines. Tears, fat and shiny, run down his cheeks; his nose runs and violent sobs wreck his entire frame. His hands shake to the point he is afraid he might rip the paper. He places the papers back in the box and lays down on the floor, crying.

Clues, evidence, hypothesis. Fuck this, nothing makes sense anymore. He clutches Cole’s photo against his chest, rocking back and forth as if to sooth the boy in the picture.

It is only 10 am, but Connor somehow falls asleep in the living room.

When he wakes up he is drained and in pain. His neck is stiff and his back hurts but, mostly, his heart aches. It is afternoon already, the sun has passed its peak a while ago. Connor feels empty and confused. Part of him wants to talk to Niles, but this part is not as strong as the part that guides his feet down the street and to the rocks on the beach.

There are still a few hours before the sun sets when Connor climbs and leaps from one rock to the other until he reaches the bottom of the pool behind the house. He barely registers the framed picture still in his hands.

The sun paints a long stripe of light over the sea, the waves glitter and the foam looks bleached white. It is beautiful. Connor knows anyone would be happy to see this scene but he feels melancholic.

_ It is a beautiful last sight to see in life _ , his mind supplies, numbly. He loses track of time but there is still sun shining over the water when a wave hits his legs and shakes him off of his vacant state.

“I thought I said after sunset,” Hank’s head breaks the water, hair sticking to his forehead before he combs it back with his fingers.

Connor looks at him with a pained expression that doesn’t go unnoticed by Hank. The merman steals a glance around and, after checking that their location is safely hidden from the beach by a wall of rocks, hoists himself up to sit by Connor’s side. Hank gently touches Connor’s shoulder, water seeping into his shirt.

“Are you alright, kid?” Hank’s voice is full of concern.

Connor heaves a strangled sob and Hank immediately pulls him in into a hug. Connor allows the manhandling, shivering as Hank’s cold skin slowly grows warm where it touches him.

“I am sorry, Hank,” Connor says, voice garbled.

“What are you talking about?” Hank slowly pulls away, his salty hands cradle Connor’s face gently.

Still sniffing Connor looks down at the picture in his hand. Hank’s eyes follow his and the merman sucks in a harsh breath when he recognizes what Connor is holding. Hank’s nostrils flare, his gills open and close feebly.

“Didn’t expect you to find this,” Hank says, voice so quiet Connor would miss it if he wasn’t so close or so raw with emotions.

“I am sorry,” Connor repeats. Hank’s hands run down Connor’s arms until their fingers are intertwined around the dark wood of the frame.

“What else did you find?”

“An article about the accident” Connor says, his voice clearly dying before he finishes his line.

“What else?” Hank prompts and Connor sobs, brokenly.

“A note about your funeral.”

Strangely, Hank squeezes Connor’s hand tenderly, his thumb brushing over Connor’s slim wrist. This is not the reaction Connor was expecting. The silent acceptance calms him down and after a moment his breathing is back to normal.

“Do you still want to stay here with me for the rest of your vacations?” Hank asks and, of all the things that he could’ve asked, this one takes Connor by surprise. The human stares blindly at the waves.

“Can I ask a personal question?” Connor asks in return.

“Sure,” Hank sounds defeated.

“If I stay, will you tell me what happened?”

It is Hank’s turn to be caught by surprise. He takes a deep breath, the side fin on his tail flaps a little hitting Connor’s leg. They both stare at the point of contact.

“Of course I will.”

“Then I will stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a day when I don't finish a chapter in cliffhangers. It is not today.  
> The response to this fic has been amazing! I am delighted <3  
> Hope you guys enjoy the direction it took. I promise there won't be too much angst now, this is a story about healing and loving.
> 
> And talking about loving, check out the [beautiful art](http://nbublitz.tumblr.com/post/176925928931/i-did-it-to-a-friends-fanfic) my [friend](https://twitter.com/DeNovoCrackShip) made for this story!

**Author's Note:**

> Sumo will be here next chapter :D
> 
> Come hang with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/curiumkingyo) or [Tumblr](http://burn-gormans-eyelashes.tumblr.com) and if you are feeling generous, take a look at my [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/O5O8K6GJ#) too <3


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